When you grow up in a tiny bamboo house with a tin roof that leaks when it rains, you learn early what it means to appreciate small things — a dry corner, a warm meal, a quiet evening with your family. That’s the kind of life I had in Sagay. Simple. Hard. Beautiful in its…
The bus rumbled along the dusty road, cutting through fields of green sugarcane under a sky that promised nothing but good things. I chose a seat by the window and settled in with my backpack at my feet. The air was warm, scented faintly with earth and diesel, and filled with the hum of conversation…
This morning, as the sun gently warmed the small streets of Sagay and the scent of damp earth and fresh pandesal drifted through the air, I took a deep breath and stepped outside. Wearing my favorite white off-shoulder dress — the one that’s been with me through birthdays and beach walks — I felt like…
Before the long flights, airport layovers, and bright lights of Oklahoma, my world was rooted in the simple rhythm of life in Sagay City, Negros Occidental. I was born into a poor family, and we lived in a small bamboo huts. The roof was patched with rusting corrugated metal and woven nipa, and when the…